


Honey Whiskey

by atenebrae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Awkwardness, Christmas, Drunk kiss, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Fluff, Guilt, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atenebrae/pseuds/atenebrae
Summary: The first time Dean and Cas kiss, they're tipsy. Or well, it's more accurate to say they're very drunk.It feels wonderful, of course, until they realize what's happening and the good old shame comes rushing in. Now, the situation is left awkward and neither of them knows how to act anymore. But fortunately, Christmas time comes around with an oportunity to make things right...





	Honey Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! So as you can see, I'm not dead!  
> More seriously, I struggled for months to find time and inspiration to write, but now I have a big idea coming. This fic is just a little something to get myself back into business, simple, short and sweet!
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy!

The first time Dean and Cas kiss, they are tipsy. Or, well, it is a rather polite way to say they are drunk _as hell_.

 

They just wrapped up a pretty hard case, but had the chance to cross paths with a nice bartender, who also happened to be a witch. And not the nasty-spell-casting kind of witch, but one with suprisingly innocent powers, such as creating the perfect drinks for each supernatural species.

Dean had to drag Cas with him, as Sam, Mary and Jack decided to hit the motel to rest. When he sat at the bar, the witch immediately recognized him and gave him a smirk. Without a word, she slid a glass full of amber liquid to him, before she turned to Cas, her stare pensive as she observed him, head tilted on one side.

“Definitely not human” she had said, raising an eyebrow, “So what are you?”

“I’m an angel” Cas had answered just as Dean had grinned an “Angel” between two mouthfuls of his drink. The word had resonated around them, full of its bright, divine meaning.

The bartender’s eyes had opened a little wider but she had immediately found her spirit again. In a few motions of her thin, dark hands, she had prepared a pale drink with thin swirls of white smokes rising from it.

She had put it in front of Cas, and he had given it a wary look, despite the polite “Thank you” he had muttered.

But despite the eerie appearance of that tongue of fog licking the glass, he had been really surprised by the soft yet heady taste of the alcohol rolling down the back of his throat.

And before he had realized, he and Dean were laughing at the top of their lungs, jackets drapped over their chairs, eyes shiny of joyful tears. The bartender had considered them with a disapproving look but compared to the ones shouting and crying in some corners of the bar, it was enjoyable to see people so light-hearted after so many drinks.

 

They had finally came back to the motel which was only a few steps away from the bar, but the five minutes walk had turned into a twenty minutes long one, as they had to stop every two seconds to catch their breaths or stop the world from spinning any more.

Dean had climbed the stairs and had shushed Cas when this one had began to softly laugh for God knows what reason.

“Mom and Sam and Jack are sleeping right there!” Dean had told him, trying to be as serious as possible, pointing an unsure finger in the door’s vague direction.

They had finally come inside the room, trying to be as silent as possible but had only ended up making more noise than a furious elephant, or ten.

“Hey” Dean had said, still bent in two of laughter, “Remember when that girl told Sam her grandma had the same hair?” he had asked, his voice strangled by a sunny grin as he had remembered Sam’s stunned, blinking face.

Cas had looked at him, repressing a laugh as much as he can, before he had burst into a wide spark of laughter, the kind that sets fire to Dean’s belly. Dean had exploded into a more vivid joy and he had held onto Cas’ shoulder not to fall down. The room had spun around them, and his body had been warm and so, so very slow he had felt like a spoonful of clouds.

“We should go to bed” he had muttered with not much strength, and his mouth had suddenly been covered by Cas’ coat, for his head had fallen heavy on Cas’ shoulder. He had raised it again to look at him in the eye.

“I think we should, yes” Cas had answered, his eyes a moment serious, like the stone angel he could be, all fury grace and silver blade, and then his lips had broken in a smile again, light flooding into the crappy motel bedroom.

Dean had smiled in return and then suddenly, nothing was spinning anymore, but darkness had fallen, soft and warm around them and all he could see was Cas, and the laughter lines around his eyes and nose, and he had heard the liquor lapping in his ears, threatening to overflow.

“I’m glad you’re there” he had finally muttered, giving Cas a soft look, his voice not shuddering anymore, “With me” he had added, his heart missing a beat.

“I’m glad I’m there too” Cas had answered, the headlights of the cars passing outside casting hot, dancing lights on his hair and eyes and face.

 

And then Dean’s brain had just shut down. Or rather the reasonable part of it. Suddenly, in that night, in that light, Cas had just looked very kissable and he had just thought, _why the hell not?_

 

He had made a tiny step closer, but that tiny step was just enough to make them stand way too close, breaths swirling together. His fingers had found the back of Cas’ head and his nose had nudged the tip of Cas’, and he had stopped, shivering of all that drunken fury and he had silently asked, and Cas had just leaned in.

And then they were kissing. Nothing more complicated than that. Mouths hungrily pressed together, hands creating knots in already disheveled hair, lashes fluttering on flushed cheeks.

And it was wonderful, for sure. With golden alcohol still murmuring softly in their bellies, making everything so gentle and slow and so _easy_. There was no pain, no death, and no stupid shame, just the feeling of their lips collapsing, crashing together in a perfect harmony.

 

But of course, it had to go wrong. Because a moment after, the cloud on their heads had seemed to fade and suddenly they had begun to think right again, and dear God, they were kissing, bodies warm and hands shaking, and they were so full of liquor that they couldn’t be sure either it was their hearts or the liquid floating inside them that decided of it.

They had broken apart, breathless, giving each other a frightened look. A look of pure shock, and then, Dean had stepped back, passed a hand on his hair and the room had begun to spin again.

“I’m sorry” Cas had muttered, looking as lost as him.

Dean had sighed, his eyes dizzy and blurry and fluttering like butterflies. “No, no, it’s...” he had started but the words had died on his mouth, that same mouth that had kissed Cas a second ago. It all felt so good, so _right_ , but he welled up and said, “It was a mistake, I’m sorry.”

Cas had blinked, frozen, and then his features had soften again, and with a little broken smile he had said, “Well, I suppose we won’t even remember it in the morning, right?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile back at him, a tiny nothing of a smile. “Yeah, I guess” he had said, and he didn’t want to forget, and he wanted to go back in time and stop himself because what was he going to do now?

 

He had turned back and had bitten his lip to swallow the shaking water in his throat, and then he had wished Cas a small goodnight, before he had kicked his boots and just lied in the bed, curled on one side like a child.

He had heard Cas have a small sigh before turning in for the night, the rustling of the sheets like a breeze into the room. A cold, cold wind freezing Dean to the bones.

He had shut his eyes tight and prayed. That he would wake the day after without a memory, like a coward, like a fool, that he wouldn’t remember a thing, because it had worked so many times, because liquor had washed his mind clean so many _damn_ times, so why not now?

He had fallen asleep to this thought, that oblivion was the best solution, and he had believed it. He had believed that his mind would erase all that evening and make the night as black and thick like one cruel god could.

 

Except that when he wakes up in the morning, the thirst thing that hits his heavy, pulsing, sickening brain is the fanthom feeling of Cas’ lips against his own, and when he turns to see the angel, this one is sitting on the edge of his own bed, and by the look he’s giving him, alcohol definitely did a crappy job this time.

 

X

 

Days pass and the situation only gets worse.

 

They cannot even stand in the same room without feeling an iron weight falling on their stomachs, less even talk. They just avoid each other’s eyes, they hold their breaths as if something might blow up if they dared to.

And though they try to be discreet, it’s definitely not. Sam starts to suspect something, and he has all the reasons to. Even a blind man would see the strangeness in their behavior, watching them dance around each other and throwing desperate looks around.

Christmas starts to approach, and Dean only gets more nervous. They planned some family time, all idotic meals and embraces, which means he’ll not be able to avoid Cas any longer.

Not that he’s not ashamed of what he’s doing, but he doesn’t see another solution. And Cas seems to be OK with it, so why try something that may turn out to be utterly stupid? Sure, he imagined finally talking to the angel once or twice, or a hundred times, but he’s just not ready. He’s sure that if he opens his mouth, the words will spill like bloody water in an endless flow.

And it makes him hurt, it makes him ache to the core of his being. Because his instincts are always stronger than him. Everytime he enters the room and Cas is there, his body pushes him towards him through that old, mystical link between them and he wants to hear his voice, and see his smile just like he did in the headlights of that drunken night.

 

But turns out that alcohol made the right decision when it retired from their minds and left the memories untouched.

 

It’s Christmas, and though Dean hates to admit it, he truly enjoys the spirit of it. The cold weather, the wind carrying bright snow, the houses decorated with colorful lights, and this indescribable feeling of wholeness floating around, surrounding him in a protective bubble.

He is watching Sam, Mary and Jack chatting and laughing around the Christmas tree they installed in the bunker, and his heart is filled with gold. He barely dares to breathe, afraid he’d break the moment, shatter the incedible peace filling the room in that moment. So he just crosses his arms on his shivering chest and stays silent, covering his family with a warm look.

“It feels so strange, doesn’t it?” a voice suddenly says by his side. He turns to see Cas has come to stand next to him, and is watching the rest of the family with the same soft amusement. Sensing Dean’s eyes on him, he turns to look at him. “That everything is so normal, I mean.”

Dean has to rip himself from Cas’ starry stare. “Yeah” he whispers. It feels so hard to believe, knowing all that they’ve been through these past weeks. Being stuck in other, evil-blue worlds, getting their mom back, ripping Cas from Asmodeus’ claws. It all felt so heavy Dean felt like bursting. But now, it’s all so quiet and he keeps being afraid that this is all a dream.

He turns back to Cas, and his lashes flutter, remembering that drunken night, that fusion of souls not so long ago. “Can you give me a hand in the kitchen?” he asks, his body set alight, his heart knocking on his ribs like a maniac.

Cas seems surprised that Dean wants his presence when he’s been avoiding him for days through distraught eyes and heated cheeks. “Of course” he says after a moment, giving Sam, Mary and Jack a last gentle look before following Dean.

 

When he enters the kitchen, Dean is not preparing anything like he expected him to, but back facing him, fists clenched.

 

Cas frowns. “Dean” he says, but his name doesn’t trigger anything in Dean. Cas makes a step. “Are you alright?”

Dean has a shiver before he turns around, giving Cas a weak smile. “Yeah, yeah” he says, before the curl on his lips crumbles and he avoids Cas’ eyes, uncertain. “It’s just that...” He stops, passes a hand in his hair, like he usually does when he’s tired, or nervous. His head then snaps back to Cas, and he dives his eyes into his. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Cas blinks, visibly startled. It’s rare to see Dean bare his soul in such a way. “About what?” he asks, truly confused.

Dean ties his hands into a knot, stares down at them, twists his fingers until they become as white as the snow outside. “What happened back at the motel” he says, and now he glances at anything but Castiel. The smooth floor, the white lights, the pie heating in the oven. Just anything.

Castiel feels his heart and wings miss a beat. Of course, Dean’s words bring the memories back into his head, sharp and full of lightning, but he swallows softly and tries to keep a façade, tries not to show how painful it feels inside.

“It was my fault” Cas whispers, and he means it. “I knew it was a mistake but… I guess I wasn’t made for such quantity of alcohol” he says with a little laugh to hide the bitterness bubbling behind his teeth.

Dean’s lips lift into a thin smile, but he says nothing. There’s seems to be something stuck in his throat, words mishapen in his mouth, thoughts he doesn’t allow himself to say out loud.

“Dean” Cas says, making the hunter’s eyes open a little wider, as if electrified. “We can forget about it, if that’s what you want” he softly says, though all his grace tells him he’ll never be able to forget. “And I’ll never tell Sam, Mary, Jack, or anyone, if that’s what you’re afraid of” he adds, voice tiny.

Dean nods, eyes looking down once again. “Yeah, alright” he murmurs again, unsure.

Cas walks to him and when Dean raises his head to him, he gives him an encouraging smile. “Didn’t you need my help with something?”

Dean scoffs. “Not really, that was just an excuse to...” His words trail off, before he has a small smile back in return. “But now that you’re here, sure.”

Cas’ smile widens and he helps Dean get the pie out of the woven. It feels so right, so tender to be with Dean like this, to simply be by his side, doing normal things and for once, not be bathed in blood and bound in chains and ripped from life. He can almost forget what happened back in the dim lights of the motel room. If he focuses hard enough on the warmth of the moment, he can forget all about that damned kiss.

 

And then as Dean struggles to remove the pie from its mold, Cas’ eyes are caught by a shape above their heads, and as Dean sees him look at the ceiling, he does the same.

“Ah” he says, the breath kicked out of his lungs. Quick, his eyes land back on the ground, the wall, everything but Cas’ bright stare full of light. His lashes flutter. “It’s, uhm, mistletoe. Sam probably put it there to mess with us.” He briefly glances at Castiel. “Tradition, uhm, wants people to kiss if they stand together under that crap.”

“I know what mistletoe means” Castiel answers, and his eyes do not leave the tiny green branches above his head.

“Oh” Dean says and now he cannot look at anything else but Cas. It’s like all the light in the room has been sucked out and the last spark remains around the angel, like a glow around his so familiar silhouette. Dean blinks several times and he feels his eyes become watery and his mind plays tricks on him and it’s like he’s standing in that crappy motel room again.

 

After a moment, Castiel lowers his head and turns to Dean, who’s standing frozen like a statue, shaking like blood boiling under the sun.

“What if I don’t want to forget what happened?” Dean suddenly says, and there’s such raw emotions spreading on his face that Cas is blown away. He sees the salt in Dean’s eyes, and the twitch in his breathing, the fire in his mouth.

His own breath gets stuck in his lungs. “I never wanted you to” he mutters in a tiny voice and it’s like all the shadows leave his body.

Dean has a chocked, little sound and he makes a small step to Cas, the space between them becoming a small corridor of warm air. Just like in the motel room, his fingertips find the back of Cas’ head, they dive in strands of dark hair and then he stops, a speck of dust away from him, silently asking in shyness and astonishment and fear.

Cas smiles and he nods, but this time he doesn’t move, he lets Dean come to him.

 

And he does.

 

He leans towards him and then suddenly it’s all like in the motel room. The lights on the ceiling even shake a little, Cas’ grace whispering among them. Their lips crash together, warm and hungry, but it’s also different. It’s slow, careful, they taste every second, so shameful the first time was drowned in hard liquor.

Dean’s breath is warm against Cas’ skin and his lashes flutter against his cheek, and his hands are gentle on his neck. Cas feels a soft hum of awe resonating in his belly and he melts a little deeper against Dean, and this time it’s all real, it’s all true. There’s no mask and no blood running thicker, it’s them in their purest selves.

 

When they pull back, they know it’s not the last time it happens. Even when they come back to Sam, Mary and Jack and they give confused look to their disheveled hair and reddened cheeks and twenty minutes late, they know this kiss was the first of many, and they’ll never let too many drinks make the move for them, for they feel too drunken on their own to need it ever again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There it is! If you have anything to say or ask, please do, I'll be happy to answer! :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr: atenebrae


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